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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803924">Retirement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguineOcelot/pseuds/sanguineOcelot'>sanguineOcelot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:54:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguineOcelot/pseuds/sanguineOcelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An old retired adventurer puts his skills and connections to good use.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Retirement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Nothing beats retirement." He told himself that every day, trying to convince himself that being an old dinosaur wasn't all bad.</p><p>The man was tall, even for a Roegadyn, standing more than one hundred ilms tall. His well-trimmed white hair and beard paired nicely with his dark green skin, along with his numerous tattoos in silver and black ink. The Sea Wolves were once feared as brutal pirates of the north seas, but this one would never be recognized as such. He stepped off the boat onto the docks of Limsa Lominsa, giving a courteous nod to the Hyur watching him from a distance. Jacke, the Hyur, recognized one of the most skilled Rogues he'd ever had the joy to command, but respected the massive man's decision to quit the life. It was a damned shame, but he knew not to press it. There was something far more important to the hulking figure than money, fame, or even Life itself - and Jacke had seen him in a bad mood more than once. Their ritual of nods and smiles completed, the two men went their separate ways. His back creaked slightly as he readjusted to his land legs, and he grumbled in annoyance at the problems with being so damned old.</p><p>The old, scarred Roe took deep breaths, loving the sea air even more now than he had in his youth. His seaweed-green skin was marred with dozens of scars, but he hardly minded. They were just a record of his adventures, reminders of the glory days from before he had retired. The fish in his bag reminded him of his duty, however, and he hastened his steps. </p><p>The Marauders Guild was crowded, but the trainees quickly parted before the living legend walking among them. They're heard rumors, of course, but none of them expected to see him in the flesh. Even Axemaster Wyrnzoen, the battle-scarred old Roe of a Guildmaster, barely came up to The Old Man's shoulder, and as the two giants spoke quietly, the novice Marauders talked among themselves. They shared old rumors and stories: That the Old Man had fought gods and aliens, that his armor weighed as much as a mountain, that his axe could slice a city in half. Of course, none of them expected him to show up unannounced - and in a simple cotton tunic and pants, at that! No armor plate, no weapon, just several large bags and a fishing rod across his back. He took something from one bag, handing it to the Guildmaster, took the package that the Guildmaster had in exchange, and said his goodbyes. He smiled kindly at the neophytes, who were so awed by his presence that the Axemaster had to bellow them back into line for drills. An old ache in The Old Man's shoulder reminded him of his youth, when he could swing an axe like nobody's business. He wasn't bitter, exactly, but he missed being young.</p><p>The ringing of metal found The Old Man's ears even before he reached Naldiq &amp; Vymelli's shop, the home of the Blacksmith's Guild and the Armorer's Guild. The two Guildmasters, longtime friends and allies, greeted their old pupil with jubilation. Stepping lightly for his size to avoid a hard-at-work Lalafell, no taller than his knee, The Old Man greeted the pair warmly, offering them each a small trinket he had made. Crafting things from mithril was nothing new to the scarred old Roe - hell, he'd made most of his finest armor and weapons over the years himself, with ores he'd harvested with his own two hands - but he'd discovered a neat little trick he wanted to share with his former teachers. As usual, they asked him if he was willing to finally take on a steady job at their forges, and as usual, he politely declined. He may have retired from professional adventuring, but there was still something important to him. Before he could flee, the Guildmasters brought forth a glass bottle they'd been keeping for him, to show their appreciation. He said his goodbyes and took another last sniff of the forges, embracing the nostalgia, before leaving. He had more work to do, after all, and time was slowly running out. But hell, at his age, wasn't it always?</p><p>Making his way to the Arcanist's Guild, he was nearly run over by a pair of excited young Viera, the rabbit-like women  that - if he was being completely honest - The Old Man had always had a fondness for. But they were kids, in the prime of their youth, and he didn't bother them. He was, after all, an old-timer, and on the clock besides. He made his way inside to drop off a stack of slender, leather-bound tomes. The leather was blacker than the midnight sky, crafted from eldritch metals and the hides of beings that should not exist, their potential unfathomable. Of course, there was also a stack of much lesser grimoires, for the students still learning to tap their powers. A gift, hand-made by The Old Man for the Guildmaster, as an ongoing thanks to the woman who had taught The Old Man to unleash his own magical prowess. She gave him a smile and her thanks, along with several spools of excellent silken string, but she knew the scarred old ex-adventurer was itching to get on with his day. She shooed him away, rather than reminiscing about their adventures. It was a damned shame, really, that he'd given things up. He'd made an excellent student, and a reliable Summoner, before his retirement. But she understood how he felt. Neither of them were spring chocobos anymore.</p><p>He made his way to the airship terminal, hopping the first ship bound for the desert city of Ul'dah. He didn't much care for the dry air, but it didn't bother him much. The wide-brimmed fishing hat served him wall under the blazing sun, and he had other things on his mind anyways. A long-haired, draconic Au Ra  nodded silently to him from across the ship, but didn't approach. The Old Man vaguely recognized her, an Adventurer he'd shared a party with once, and offered a smile of his own. He'd never remember their names, but every dungeon dive he'd ever been on had been an experience of camaraderie, and he treasuered the lot. Mostly, though, he'd treasured the treasure.</p><p>When the airship arrived, he hastened to the Gladiator's Guild, popping the top on a small alchemical solution he'd whipped up. It took away the worst of the arid climate, allowing him to enjoy the occasional breeze. Mylla, the Guildmaster, nodded politely to the colossal man as he entered, a bundle of cloth-wrapped heavy metal in his arms. It took nearly impossibly high degrees of strength to wear the armor and shields of a Paladin, but he knew the young woman was more than capable of it. He'd forged it with her in mind, after all, and the matching longsword paired perfectly with it. His time in her Guild had taught him the ideal balances and shapes for each, and since he'd been forging things anyways, he'd figured an upgrade for an old friend would be fun. He left with hardly a word, old warriors not needing to say much to one another - but of course, she gave him what he'd come to pick up. Such soft material was hard to keep in good condition out on a boat, after all. He rolled his neck, wincing at all the pops, as he made his way onward.</p><p>Striding past the door to the Pugilist's Guild, The Old Man's knuckles began to itch, old scars reminding him of days long gone. He grinned, remembering his olden days under the watchful eye of Hamon, the Guildmaster. A pair of worried-looking Miqo'te, the feline species he knew well. His pair of trusted Retainers, after all, were twin Miqo'te sisters. The two here, however, were murmuring to one another, concerned by the prospect of being harmed. One male and one female, they looked similar enough to be siblings - and young. Damned young. His heart went out to them, and he gave some advice. "In any path you choose, there will be pain and hardship. But the path of a Pugilist offers significant advantages. You'll never be disarmed, for instance, when the weapon is your own body. But the greatest is the Guildmaster. Hamon's a surly old cur, but so long as you keep faith with him, he'll watch over you. Let him know that The Old Man thinks you have potential. He'll teach you both to embrace your full potential." With a kind smile, he took his leave, making his way up a familiar stairway.</p><p>Cocobuki, the leader of the Thaumaturges' Guild, was busy teaching a class. Showing neophytes - children, by The Old Man's standards - how to channel their magical energies, the diminutive mage didn't even notice the old Roe standing at the door. If he had, he would have seen The Old Man's grin, as he reminisced about his time walking the path of the Black Mage. At times, the retired man missed the thrill of channeling the forces of destruction through his veins - far more than he ever missed channeling the healing energies of a White Mage. He'd studied hard to attain mastery of both, but he had to admit to himself that dropping conflagrations on hordes of screaming enemies was always more rewarding than healing the same idiot that kept running through patches of fire, and whining that they needed healing even when they were barely scratched. With a soft chuckle, he left the stack of robes and boots for the novices. He recalled that scorches and accidental shreddings were common, and some replacement gear wasn't a problem for him anymore. And since the old mage had left his payment, a sack of valuable raw gemstones, there was no need to chitchat. Besides, the sun wouldn't wait for a pair of old has-beens to shoot the breeze.</p><p>The Old Man's boots rang out on the spiral staircase taking him into the higher reaches of the city, until he came face-to-face with a slender man in black robes, staring out a window. The man turned to face him, and a frown creased his face. The Old Man simply smiled. He understood the look, but said nothing. Instead, he simply held forth the blade he'd brought, thin and curved, a katana forged according to traditions from the far-off nation of Hingashi. He understood the other man's surprise. After all, a proper blade could only be forged by one who had walked the path of the Samurai, who had held a Soul Stone of the ancient masters, and danced through the battlefield untouched and unfettered. Most Roe were too clumsy for such skill, but The Old Man moved with the precision and discipline of one who knew. It had been important to learn to be fluid, when he had carried the blade and fought with honor beneath the banner of a mighty lord, but such days were behind him. The Samurai unsheathed the blade, testing its weight, before sheathing it once more and offering The Old Man a formal bow. With a grin, The Old Man returned the bow, in exactly the same manner, and picked up the sack lying on the floor. He checked it before stuffing it into one of his satchels, pleased with the yield of exotic plants within.</p><p>Returning to the airship, The Old Man made good time heading to Gridania, a peaceful forest city where The Order Of The Twin Adder made its home. With the harsh sun abated, he switched the tunic our for a vest, and his boots were replaced by soft moccasins, ensuring his comfort in the new locale. Even his hat was exchanged for a pair of mithril spectacles, the miniature magnification lenses set off to the sides so they could be easily accessed. With long strides, he easily made his way into the Twin Adder headquarters. A squad of Privates, led by a Corporal, saluted him as he passed, recognizing his rank as Captain - or maybe just seeing the insignia tattooed on his bared shoulder, and getting the hint. He made his way to the back rooms, and made his final trade of the day: a gleaming firearm, a class of weapons still relatively new to Eorzea, but no less refined for their novelty. The barrel was smooth and plated in silver filigree, and the young Adventurer was thrilled to have it. Little did they know, it was similar to the gilded, elegant jezail that The Old Man had hung above his fireplace, a reminder of his own days as a Machinist. That wasn't all that long ago, he mused to himself, but it was always fun to watch cheeky young whippersnappers dance around like they were the first to figure everything out. Hell, maybe they were. He'd certainly invented enough techniques, in his heyday. The payment for such a fine weapon was welcomed with a chuckle, along with a bundle of exotic metals the Adventurer had come across in his travels. The Old Man went over a mental checklist, and nodded once. He was ready.</p><p>Going to the private room he had available at the Guildhouse, he put on a set of quality leathers, heavy gloves and an apron, adjusting the magnifiers on his spectacles. His hammer came down on the metals the Adventurer had given him, working them on his anvil, shaping the project into something absolutely perfect. Next, he began to polish the gemstones gotten from the Black Mage into their proper forms. Gleaming, faceted Spinel, perfect for his goal, and the perfect size for the settings. He fixed them into place, moving onto the next project. Sizzling hot metal served as a perfect cooking plate for the tender meat the Axemaster had provided, and cooking beside it were the exotic vegetables the Samurai had brought him. Cooking them to perfection, he turned his gaze aside to the fabric and thread, courtesy of the Gladiator and the Arcanist, and set to work with a smile. The familiar zen of crafting fine goods washed over him, and he kept a proper rotation, keeping the food from burning, the metal from melting, and the loom from jamming.</p><p>He checked the sun as he finished the last of these projects, and nearly laughed. As always, his timing was perfect, and he switched back to his comfortable tunic and pants. Standing tall, he let out a little grumble at his aching joints. He may have walked every path of power he'd found, but there was no stopping old age. Today, however, he was a man on a mission. He made his way to the Conjurer's Guild, the home of White Mages. Though he'd mastered that particular branch of magic, it no longer held much of an allure to him. In fact, he wouldn't even have come this close if it weren't for one very important thing. After all, lessons were ending for the day, and he was here for-</p><p>"Daddy!"</p><p>The voice broke through his thoughts, bringing a broad smile to his face. The Old Man forgot his age for a time, sweeping his daughter up into a tight hug and swinging her around in a circle. The slender Miqo'te barely even came up past his waist, and he was always gentle with her, but they both enjoyed the fact that he could fairly easily heft her one-handed, even with his old aches. Her classmates laughed at the display, and of course she was embarrassed, but she hugged him back, talking excitedly about all the things she'd learned. A skilled young White Mage, her talent for healing far exceeded his, and he was proud of her accomplishments. And as he led her back to their cottage, a small home he'd bought with the proceeds of his long Adventuring career, he was more than happy to discuss her continued studies. His dungeon-diving days were behind him, as he no longer required the money, but he was proud of her for taking up the mantle of the adventurer. When they arrived home, she was delighted to see her favorite steak, cooked to perfection and paired with the berry juice from the metalsmithing masters, and her new silken robes in just her size. The spinel-studded amulet, rings, circlet, earrings, and bracelets accented it perfectly, and he was more than happy to adjust them as necessary. As they ate, she asked a question he hadn't expected to hear. "I'm going on a dungeon raid with a few friends, and we uh....we need somebody in heavy armor to draw aggro. I know you're retired, and I wouldn't normally ask, but if you wanted to, uh...."</p><p>He smiled, gently tapping her forehead with one finger. "I'd be delighted to, my little Angel, but I'll need to prepare some food for the trip. I know how you and your friends work, and without me, the three of you would be wandering into some hole in the ground on empty stomachs." His stern tone broke with a little smile, and as their conversation turned to matters of adventure, a thought crossed his mind.</p><p>Maybe being old wasn't so bad, after all.</p>
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